ManManLady Threesomes
by Tippi.Hates.Birds
Summary: Kindly read the Author's Note for an explanation of my Post-War Universe. Hermione hates to be babysat, even if it is for her own good. A tale of mail and insufferable males and perhaps a hint of romance? Only time will tell!


Man-Man-Lady Threesomes

A/N: I am INCENSED at fanfiction for I had written and eloquent and incisive and descriptive and wholly explanatory author's note and then, in the blink of an eye, it was GONE. VANISHED. And now I must recreate it from my head, which is empty and devoid of author-type thoughts. The gist is as such: War is over, Death Eaters remain and are roaming about being Death Eater-y, [now there is an idea for a Harry Potter-themed delicatessen] Hermione is thought to be in danger and is therefore rounded up and kept safe and sound, if bored and annoyed, with a rotating cabinet of babysitters-cum-bodyguards. People who are not dead: Fred, Remus, Tonks, etc. If someone appears in this story, please assume that he or she is alive and was not killed in the final battle. Exceptions will be made for the reappearance of Sirius Black, whose miraculous un-death will be explained, I assure you. Points for those of you who can identify the reference in the title, but I regret to inform you that there will not actually be any Man-Man-Lady Threesomes, least of all those involving the inimitable Remus Lupin, who has a wife and a child, shame on you! Basically, this is my story and my fake-reality and if you have questions please ask me and I will explain what is going on in my muddled head to the best of my ability. Hopefully this work of fiction will explore the characters of our favorite characters and how they cope with finally growing up and moving on in the new, war-free world. I WILL UPDATE. I promise. Enjoy!

Did you read the author's note? It isn't nearly as good as my first attempt, but it still deserves to be read. Go!

Chapter One: In Which We Meet Our Heroine and Discuss Her Mail

Although the war had been over for several months, rogue Death Eaters were still being rounded up by the Aurors, and high profile muggle-borns were still in danger from the wily radicals. Hermione Granger was one such high profile muggle-born.

It was a bright and sunshine-y Tuesday morning, a novelty for the London-dwellers, and Hermione Granger sat in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place with a stack of mail and a babysitter, in the form of one Remus Lupin. The mail had been delivered to a decoy flat several kilometers away, where Hermione Granger was purported to dwell. In actuality, Hermione Granger was kept at the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, which, though it had been nearly restored to the height of security, was still deemed too risky to use as an official meeting place. It, however, was deemed just secure enough to be used to secure Hermione Granger, item number one on the rogue Death Eaters' to do list. For all appearances, Miss Granger lived in a modest flat she rented with her war veteran's reward money.

As it was too dangerous to leave Hermione Granger alone at any point, she had a rotating battery of bodyguards and companions to keep her company and fight off potential attackers, a fact which irked the witch to no end. As if fighting in a bloody war hadn't taught her an ounce of self-defense!

Incensed by this train of thought, Hermione ripped open another letter. The post the young witch received could generally be subdivided into three separate categories. Fan mail, mostly from adoring young witches and wizards and, to a disturbing extent, from admiring older wizards, was generally polite and complimentary, except when it was creepy and dangerous and nausea-inducing, in which case the letter was handed over to Hermione's chaperone, the sender catalogued, and the message destroyed. These types of letters made up a majority of Hermione's daily post. A good portion of her correspondence fell into the next category, death threats. These tended to be mundane and lacking in creativity, and Hermione almost found herself hoping for a threat of dismemberment or entrail-consumption as relief from the boredom of yet another intimidating Avada Kedavra or the like. Yawn. Many of these threatening letters were weeded out before Hermione's post reached her young, feminine hands, but often several would slip through the screening process, and, upon being opened, were promptly removed from aforementioned hands and destroyed.

The last subcategory of letters was sadly tiny in comparison to the first two: letters from friends and acquaintances. Since Hermione was constantly in the company of either a friend or an acquaintance, most didn't see a point in writing her a letter, especially one that would not reach her until the next day after having been sent, since it had to be rerouted to Hermione's fake abode. Thus, Hermione received a great deal of mail from both friendly and unfriendly strangers, and little written communication from those that she knew. Hermione did love to get mail, but her heart sank a little when she came to the end of the stack every morning without a friendly, personal message to save.

On this otherwise unremarkable Tuesday morning, Remus Lupin was just placing a dollop of marmalade on his morning toast when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his charge stiffen and pale, a piece of parchment shaking in her hand.

A/N: I do apologize! I do not intend to end every chapter with a cliffhanger, but this story came to me in a rush and it is now 2:15 am and I am dreadfully sleepy, too sleepy, in fact, to write more, at least tonight. Did you read the author's note at the top? If not, shame on you. Go read it right away.


End file.
